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pspinler
Author of 5 Stories |
Chapter 01
Searching
Ship after ship entered or left the gate ring of the hyperspace system, only to drift off into different orbits around Mars, reminescent of a string of beads cut and scattering. Sporadic bright flares of rocket exhaust outlined the ships, remote islands of life spitting in the face of the vast, cold, dark.
Aboard one ship, a clunky old fishing vessel adopted to space, a tall attractive young woman with short purple hair pensively pulled at the jacket falling around her arms and stared out a viewport. This uncertainty, this waiting, it always bugged Faye. Money in her pocket and a game to bet on, that's the only time she really felt happy, although sometimes it was pretty damn exciting chasing a bounty. But to just wait like this, it made her antsy. She needed some distraction from the untouchable memories locked in her head. Her past, refusing to let her go, but unable to be grasped.
Hugging her arms, Faye turned her gaze back over her shoulder, "Haven't you found anything yet? Hurry up."
Behind her, a androgynous pre-teen in a simple white tee and bike shorts wore a pair of glowing goggles over unruly short red hair. Laying on her back on the floor, she stuck out her tounge, 'hmmm'ed, and grimaced. Suddenly her face lit up, and with a giggle, the redhead sang an apparent response, "Ranma can't hidey widey! Edward and Tomato will find you!" She (or he) flipped onto on her (or his) stomach with her toes impossibly stretched over her back and using her toes, typed on the computer keyboard in front of her.
"Geez Romanji. Got ants in your pants or something? Go take a powder or whatever it is you do all day in the bathroom. It's not like you're going to catch this guy anyway." This from a lanky man in a ruffled suit with spiky hair lounging on a beat up couch. Spike Spegal casually blew a stream of smoke from his mouth and quirked his lips in his trademark smirk.
"Only because some clumsy, spiky haired lunkhead will scare him off, first," retorted Faye. Even if Spike was an asshole, at least arguing with him was better than doing nothing. "Likely get your ass kicked again in the bargain. See if I patch you up this time."
"Feh. Like I'd want that. The only thing you're worse at than bounty hunting is nursing."
Faye snorted distainfully at the spiky haired ass in front of her and gathered a retort, only to be interrupted by a beep from the computer in front of the young redhead.
"At last!" exclaimed a muscular, balding man with sideburns and an obviously artificial arm. "I'm sick and tired of listening to the two of you whine. What've you got, Ed ?"
Faye pushed her face in front of the computer at that annoucement. Only to produce a "Hey!" of protest when she was elbowed aside by a smirking, lazy seeming Spike. Jet Black only shook his head as his earstwhile shipmates from Edward's other side, then turned his attention to the screen.
The computer displayed a picture of an erect but weatherbeaten man, obviously adult but of indeterminate age. A pigtail poked out over one shoulder. "Says the last time he was seen was a string of martial arts tournaments several years ago. Apparently he gave up because it was 'too easy'. Sounds right up your alley, Spike."
"Hmmm..." Spike's angular face took on a thoughtful expression. "You know, I think I've heard of this guy."
"You, thinking? That's a first," sniped Faye as she looked around Spike's shoulder.
Spike ignored the comment and went on. "He was some kind of local legend when I was studying. The Wild Horse, or some such. Supposedly never beaten. He studied something called ... uh... unrestricted, or unlimited something. Supposed to be the best."
Jet looked at the fires flaring up behind his partner's eyes and groaned. "You're not here to fight him, Spike. Just to catch him."
"Oooh. Big bad macho boy's testosterone is running away with him again. Men are such slaves to their testicles." Now, it was Faye's turn to smirk.
"He should have garnered a fair amount of cash from some of these tournaments. Ed, can you see if you can trace where it went, and see if you can find out what address he was at?" Jet turned toward the door. "I'll see if any of my old contacts can get me access to any financial or other old records."
"Well, I'm off, then." Spike straighted, and stretched. "It'd be good to visit the old dojo anyway."
Both men were gone from the room when Edward spoke again. She pushed the googles up her forehead, revealing unbearably cute freckle outlined amber eyes. "Huh? Where'd they all go? Edward isn't done yet!"
Faye, finally able to reach the keyboard, had scrolled the article down and was reading it. "Not like either of those idiots to wait," she muttered, ignoring her own earlier impatience. "Uh, it says here that the thing he misses the most is good okonomyaki, and that Mars has no good okonomyaki shops? Well, maybe it's time Mars got one. Better to lure him to me than waste energy hunting all over the map. After all, how hard can it be? Hey Ed, what in the world is okonomyaki?"
Spike, hands in the pockets of his ruffled blue suit, calmly strode down the narrow paths. The cigarrette in his lips left a trail of smoke to crawl, snakelike, through the patches of sunshine.
Finally reaching a particular doorway, Spike paused a minute to finish his smoke and look around. "Huh. Hasn't changed much." Dropping the cigarrette, he ground it out with his toe and briefly watched the last of the smoke blow away.
Pushing open the door, Spike stepped inside. A rhythmic thumping noise interspaced by occasional yells drew his attention down the hall. Rounding the corner of the hallway, Spike observed the mat. Several people were paired off and attempting to beat on each other. They were young men, in the main, dressed in loose clothing and protective pads.
Spike's mouth smirked, and his eyes gleamed as he considered the scene. Picking one of the largest, most aggressive men on the mat, Spike strolled casually around a few other sparring fighters until he got close enough to reach out and strategically tug the big man's arm after a particularly hard punch. The man's body reacted as expected, flipping suddenly into the air, and planting him on his back. The bruiser's eyes crossed comically as he gaped in complete surprise.
His partner, suddenly deprived of his opponent, only gaped wildly.
"Wow, things have really gone downhill around here, haven't they?" Spike goaded, smirking at the down man and his partner. "Don't tell me you can't do any better than that?"
Recovering his breath and dignity, the floored man struggled up and rushed Spike with a growl. Spike merely casually sidestepped the rush and planted his knee into the man's ribs, effectively halting him, before cross punching his temple, then snap kicking him into his erstwhile partner.
"Geez, hardly worth my time." Spike growsed, before turning to the rest of the class. "Anyone else wanna take a shot?"
"Spike!" the exclamation sprung across the mat, causing the uncertain students to draw off to the sides. Just exiting the office door, a whipcord thin, gray haired, athletic man bounced forward, and seized Spike by the arm. "Damn! It's good to see you, kid!"
Suddenly, the newcomer and Spike simultaneously sprung into action, treating each other to a fast, inconclusive set of blows, kicks, and counters. It ended with both in a stance, standing a few feet from each other, grinning like madmen.
"Still got it, I see, old man." Spike teased, happily.
"Hah. It'll be a cold day before a young punk like you can take me down." the man equally happily rejoined.
Just as suddenly as they started fighting, the two broke their stances, and hugged, slapping each other's backs. "Come on, let's get off the mat and talk, Spike!" the elder happily said, leading Spike back the way he had come.
Much later, seated and enjoying a cigarette and coffee, Spike lounged in one of the spare chairs. "So, what brings you back here, Spike? As nice as it is to see you, I'm guessing you didn't drop by just to say hi."
Spike smiled a little in response, and blew out a puff of smoke. "What can you tell me about a guy named Ranma Saotome, Sensei?"
"Him? Ya, I've seen him, a few years ago now, but still. You're not getting mixed up with him I hope?" the old man cocked an eyebrow, skeptically. "I don't think that both of us, working together, would stand much chance against him. Some of the stuff... I saw it, and I'm not sure I believe it..." he trailed off.
"Come to think of it, you're not the first person I've heard that name from, recently. Word has it that he's started showing up again at some of the street fights."
Spike favored his old teacher with his trademark smirk. "Really now? So, where are some of the street fights being held these days?"
Unfortunately for Faye, this seemingly simple action was no longer easy.
First, Faye had to tug briefly on her apron to free it's sticky, batter soaked cloth from the table's edge where she had leaned against it. Then, as she turned, eggshells and other unidentifyable substances crunched underfoot, nearly causing her to fall. Fortunately Faye was able to save her balance by a vigorous wave of the arms, which also served the purpose of clearing a little of the smoke pouring off the grill behind her.
The brief clearing in the smoke revealed the counter, or rather, would have revealed the counter were any of it still visible under the piles of flour, puddles of unknown fluids, and warzone scattered wreckage of cooking implements. Well, mostly cooking implements. A competent cook might have wondered at the bailing wire, blowtorch, dewar jar holding lox leeched from the ship's fuel, and wood chisels.
Taking advantage of the opportunity before the smoke recovered the counter, Faye plucked up a ladle and a bowl half full of a multi-colored, lumpy yet bubbling substance. With considerable effort, she dredged a scoop of ... something ... from the bowl, and expectantly held the spoon inverted over the general area she thought the stove was currently at. After some while with nothing happening, she shook the spoon. Still nothing happened. Setting down the bowl, Faye probed blindly toward the countertop with one hand, finally returning with a wood chisel, which she used to try to pry the contents out of the ladle. After lengthy struggle, the only thing she succeeded in was gluing the chisel and ladle together.
Finally, she took a deep breath to calm herself. She shrugged, grabbed the bowl, tossed it upside down on the stove, and beat the bottom of it with the ladle assemblage. Unfortunately, on the third whack, the entire thing, ladle, bowl, and chisel, exploded.
Landing on her rump across the kitchen, Faye looked dazedly at the 6 foot flame shooting out of the smoke cloud where the stove was. As the remains of her chef hat slowly slid across one eye, she muttered, "okay, maybe this wasn't as simple as I thought."
The stubby welsch corgy beside her barked once in affirmation, and trotted under the gates.
Inside the gates, a precisely sculpted japanese garden stretched in front of the pair. Full grown trees, as precisely trimmed as a bonsai, lined the gravel path they stood on. A small stream bubbled over rocks paralleling and intersecting the winding path, leading under arched bridges to a swan and turtle filled pond.
The crunch of gravel behind them heralded the arrival of Jet. "Hey, Ed, hang on a minute. Let's go find the main entrance."
Ed giggled, spread her arms, and ran down the twisting pathway, making airplane noises the while. Eventually, she slid to a stop at the pond, where she skidded on her belly and extended her nose toward a curious turtle.
Jet sighed. "Come on, Ed, it's over this way."
Eventually, Jet found himself seated beside a handsome, but fragile looking white haired old lady. Jet guessed that she must have been quite the looker in her day, even now, she still had the mannerisms. Unfortunately, youth was apparently not the only thing she had lost.
"And that bastard ... he isn't even getting old like the rest of us. No, here I am, one of the best financial minds of the 21st century, and look at me! But the great Ranma Saotome, no ... Did I tell you how I made him date Kuno that time, dearie? Would you like to hear?" the old woman cackled and clutched Jet's arm. "Well, its a secret, but I'll tell you for only 3500 yen, cause you're so cute!"
"Yay! Stories!" squealed Ed. "Edward loves stories!"
Jet could only glance around helplessly and pray for rescue. "What in the hell is a yen?" he muttered. "Bark."
"So, what's a guy gotta do to kick some ass around here?" the man challenged.
The well dressed fight manager studied the newcomer in silence for a few moments, before asking "depends on who's asking."
"The names Saotome, Ranma Saotome. You might have heard of the Wild Horse before?" Ranma gave one of his trademarked smirks, effective even in his weatherbeaten face.
Ranma really enjoyed watching the organizer's eyes widen. It was even better when he gestured to the men who were his obvious bodyguards, saying "half the bounty to the man who takes him!" drawing the attention of the other fighters, as well. Ranma even had time to crack his knuckles as the bruisers closed in.
Not much later, Ranma was trying to prop what's left of the broken door back into place. It probably wouldn't have made much difference if he succeeded, there were a number of large, gaping holes in the wale. After a minute or so of messing with it, he hadn't managed to fix the door, but eventually but he did manage to knock down most of the rest of the wall. Shrugging, he dropped the remains of the door, turned, and walked off. Rounding the corner, Ranma's body suddenly shrunk into a familiar redheaded, although obviously adult, female body. Tossing her hair, Ranma could only smirk, thinking about near perfect disguise. Any bounty hunters were going to meet him on her own terms.
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